


Queue

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard’s impatience screws him and Legolas over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “The Battle of Five Armies is drawing near, so that means it's time for we-may-die-tomorrow sex, right? Bard thinks so. And he's more than happy to share his last night with the beautiful, bow-wielding Elven prince he's gotten to know in the days leading up to the battle. Of course, the mood is decidedly ruined when Thraunduil walks in on them mid-coitus, to find the bowman rutting on top of his son like a dog in heat” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20999679#t20999679).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He knew it would be _perfect_ , but it’s even better than he thought. Tight, wet with oil and burning hot, Legolas’ channel sucks him deeper, and Bard can sink inside all in one fluid motion, because Legolas is a warrior and growls that he can _take it_. Bard’s hands rake down his supple sides, digging into the meat of his hips and leaving pink finger marks in his pale skin. It does exactly what it’s supposed to: drive the terror of tomorrow right out of Bard’s mind.

They’ll probably all die then, and Bard didn’t want to go without holding anything good, and he’s already sent his children to safety. This is just one last pleasure before dragon-fire takes them all. Legolas hesitated at first, but then kissed him back, and now Bard is free to drive into his pliant body with brutal thrusts that leave them both gasping. 

The only good thing to come of all this is the elves—such _beautiful_ creatures, so ripe and wanton in Bard’s hands. He never met an elf he _didn’t_ want to fuck, but Thranduil and his prince helped Bard most of all. He’s grown close to them, in a way, sped on by the impending doom. Yet when he made his first move, he expected rejection; they’re more likely to survive, and he’s just one old, worn out mortal. Yet Legolas trembles in his hands and sweats and ruts back. Legolas rocks into Bard’s crotch, impaling himself so that his taut rear squishes against Bard’s thighs, and Bard moans from the stench and sight and feel of it. He’s over Legolas, grinding uncontrollably into him, with Legolas on all fours like a dog. They’re both stripped down to nothing, gleaming gold under the candles. Legolas’ blond-white is slicked over his shoulders, tucked so prettily behind his pointed ears. He looks like some fantasy come to Bard in a wet dream. 

Bard’s got decent stamina. He can savour sex for hours, but not with this, someone so _delicious_ around him, and all of Legolas’ lewd cries and whimpers. The expanse of his back is sensuality itself, his movement nothing but erotic. In a strange way, this almost makes everything _worth_ it. Bard’s building up when the flap of his tent suddenly tosses open, a tall figure striding inside despite the Elven guards, and Bard freezes in instant shock and maybe terror.

Thranduil makes only one step in before faltering and _staring_. Legolas is the only one that still moves, writhing desperately on Bard’s cock, but when he sees his father, he ducks his head, the curtain of his hair hiding him. Bard’s buried to the hilt with his fingers tight in Legolas’ sides, and he’s too shocked to move.

The first thing that flitters through Bard’s mind is that he’s been spared the battle; he’ll be struck down right here by the very king that saved him, whilst draped like an animal over a prince far too good for him. 

When Thranduil moves his hand, Bard flinches on instinct, but it lands on the silver fabric of Thranduil’s chest instead of the sword at his hip. Then he looks down at Legolas instead of Bard, hissing in clear offense, “Legolas, I called dibs!”

While Bard blinks numbly, Legolas whines, halfway between defensive and ashamed, “I know, but he propositioned me—”

“You should have said no,” Thranduil scolds. “Were you not given that option?”

“Of course I was. But Ada, the battle comes tomorrow, and is it not reasonable to wish a little pleasure before we may all meet our death?”

“And you could not go elsewhere?” Thranduil seethes, gesturing vaguely to the side. “We are surrounded by worthy warriors and less worthy Men whom I have _not_ called dibs upon.” Then, to Bard’s horror, Thranduil’s gaze lifts to him and icily announces, “He wishes to leave and travel anyway—he will not even be around.”

“Ada!” Legolas cries, shoulders hunching. It looks like the tips of his ears are blushing, but Bard can’t see his face. Bard still can’t move at all. “Honestly, it is only a one-night arrangement!”

“It could have been more,” Thranduil snaps, still glaring at Bard. “But once again the foolishness of Man has denied him one of life’s greatest pleasures, for I have taught my son everything he knows, and it is barely a tenth of my own skill.”

“I am skilled,” Legolas bitterly retorts, but Thranduil’s evidently said his peace. As abruptly as he came, Thranduil turns on his heel and storms from the tent, the flap swaying bitterly behind him. Bard’s still trying to process everything that was said. He’s sure he must have heard wrong, or else he’s sustained an injury that left his ears unable to be relied upon. 

Legolas hangs his head and waits a moment, then shoves back into Bard. Bard grunts, finally looking down, while Legolas looks over his shoulder, cheeks bright red, and murmurs, “Keep going.” Bard spends a second in awe at the resilience of elves. 

Normally, an interruption such as that one would utterly ruin the mood. But the thought of fucking Thranduil—which somehow seems to have been on the table before his oblivious mistake—is enough to keep him hard. 

So he starts pounding into Legolas again, half trying to formulate a formal apology to his lover’s father in his head.


End file.
